


Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice

by isaDanCurtisproduction



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Autumn, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Pumpkin Spice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 07:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isaDanCurtisproduction/pseuds/isaDanCurtisproduction
Summary: All Wade wants is to completely hoard every Pumpkin Spice everything forever. All Peter wants is to have his apartment back, please.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GimmeDatElephant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GimmeDatElephant/gifts).



> Based on a prompt by GimmeDatElephant. The Prompt was given in a comment in [Petey and Wade discuss the proper way to go about vigilantism (and maybe they fall in love too)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6545266/chapters/14974561) as a prompt for [Petey and Wade and their miscellaneous adventures (in which everything that could have happened, did happen)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5983255/chapters/13750138) but then I took it and put it somewhere else with no regard for anything. Anyway, this doesn't necessarily have to do with those other fics, but it can be related if you want because why the heckle-do not?

At first Peter didn't realize it was going to be a problem. Really. Like, what could possibly be problematic bout Pumpkin Spice? It was _fall_. And fall was the time for Pumpkin Spice everything, at least according to Wade.

As soon as Starbucks broke out the Pumpkin Spice lattes Wade shifted into an autumn state of mind. That meant _hoarding_ anything and everything Pumpkin spice that he could get his hands on. But, like Peter said, he didn't think it was a problem at first.

It started when Peter woke up one morning in late August, when the heat still sweltered off the asphalt and the skyscrapers created a green house out of NYC, to find Wade in a fringed, red scarf and briefs, and a pot of Pumpkin Spice Coffee dripping on the counter. A quick inspection found that all of the Columbian roasts had been replaced with Pumpkin Spice. In the fridge, the dulce de leche, white chocolate raspberry, spiced latte, and hazelnut creamers had also been replaced by pumpkin spice. 

"Putting Pumpkin Spice in your Pumpkin Spice?" Peter asked. "Isn't that some sort of fashion faux pas?"

"Yo Dawg," Wade said, dragging a pumpkin-shaped mug closer to him and taking a deep sip from it, "I heard you liked Pumpkin Spice, so I put Pumpkin spice in your pumpkin spice, so now you can autumn while you autumn." He looked so pleased, so proud of himself, that Peter didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't even like Pumpkin spice. Instead he said:

"That meme is ancient. I feel old just being in the same room as it."

Wade stuck out his tongue. 

"Also, isn't that mug from Aunt May's house? Have you been stealing from my aunt?"

Wade gasped in mock offense. "How dare you! That woman loves me, you jealous hag. I was admiring this mug when I was last there--"

"And when was that, exactly?"

"--and she said I could keep it. Because unlike you, she adores me."

Peter let the conversation veer away from the coffee, and was content with that one tiny evasion. It wasn't like he would lie if Wade asked him outright, but this one little omission couldn't possibly hurt.

Or at least, that's what Peter was thinking as he settled in next to his boyfriend in their shared kitchen and carefully didn't drink from the mug of Pumkin Spice.

 

Over the next few weeks Wade slowly infested their home with pumpkin spice. Peter went looking for his Chunky Monkey Ben & Jerry's and came away with a Tupperware container filled with Pumpkin Spice ice cream, at least according to the scrawled sharpie on the Tupperware lid. The chunky monkey was nowhere to be found.

Sometime in October the loaf of white bread waiting to mold was spirited away, and a loaf of pumpkin spice nut bread was left behind. It looked moist and delicious, but Peter couldn't even sniff it without making a face. He really didn’t like pumpkin anything. No pumpkin pie growing up, or anything. Pumpkin spice was right out.

"I can't make Tuna melts with this!" Peter yelled into the house and shook the loaf above his head.

"Try harder!" Wade screamed back.

Peter went out and bought another loaf of cheapo white bread that tasted more like chemicals than any sort of grain. By the next morning the loaf was missing and where it had been were three loaves of the pumpkin spice nut bread.

Pumpkin Spice muffins and Pumpkin Spice cake mix and Pumpkin spice mini pies filled the cupboards, and there were jars of home-made pumpkin spice jellies and pumpkin spice drink mix in the pantry, and pumpkin spice milkshakes and ice creams and Popsicles in the freezer. 

Wade replaced Peter's very manly green apple shampoo with Pumpkin Spice, which Peter supposed was tolerable because it smelled more like cinnamon than Pumpkin, and counted his lucky stars that his generic smelling soap has somehow escaped the pumpkin spice purge.

No, the straw that broke the Peter-Camel's back wasn't the bread or the muffins or the ice cream or the shampoo. No. It was the lip balm. 

New York was firmly in autumn. The leaves on the trees were red and gold, and the leaves on the ground were of a similar, if darker, shade. The wind bit and howled, and the sun set far too soon, though for that Peter was grateful if only so he could go patrolling sooner, and thus return to his warm bed sooner. The point, though, is that it was fall, and that despite Peter's Spider-given healing abilities and general ability to withstand anything thrown at him (including but not limited to: an 18-wheeler, a three-story chunk of a skyscraper, and his organic chemistry midterm), he still fell victim to chapped lips every year. So he kept lip balm, a 20-pack, in one of the bathroom drawers for when the weather turned just dry enough and his lips started to chafe and crack. 

And the time had come. Peter tried to put if for as long as possible. Because honestly? As Peter it wasn't such a big deal, but whenever he paused in his spidermanning duties to roll up the bottom of his mask and apply lip balm, he always drew attention from the ruder of New York's residents who wanted to know why Spidey was putting on _lipstick_. As if 1) that was the only option, like anything one applies to the lips is lipstick, and 2) what's wrong with a guy putting on lipstick anyway? Not that Peter minded verbally one-upping the jerk wads, but it was tiring, and it never ended. So Peter tried to avoid having to break out the chapstick for as long as possible.

But, the time had come.

And Peter went to the chosen drawer to pull out his 20-pack of cherry chapstick (Wade laughed is ass off in the CVS when Peter picked it up, and then offered to put on a dress and the cherry chapstick, so Peter could kiss him and like it, and then he laughed some more, so hard that he didn't notice Peter's blush and muttered, "Yes."). But instead of his chapstick, he found himself holding a single tube of lip balm that proclaimed itself as the smoothest and best aroma-ed Pumpkin Spice lip balm on the market. 

And Peter _screamed_. He had no choice. It wasn't even a conscious decision. He just looked at the lip balm, quivering in his shaking hand and then realized that his mouth was moving, and _then_ realized that his mouth was moving because he was screaming, loud and angry, right into the smug little pumpkin illustration on the side of the tube. 

There was a crash, and the cracking and splintering of wood as Wade burst into the room _through_ the door. The unlocked door. Right through a hole in the wood that he created by shoving his body through the door and just expecting it to give. Which it did. Peter screamed some more.

"What!" Wade exclaimed, brandishing a katana in front of him and swiveling side to side, trying to see what was attacking Peter. He was shirtless, wearing only low-slung sweat pants and a fuzzy, plaid trapper hat, reminiscent of Elmer Fudd. When nothing appeared to be an immediate danger he sheathed his katana, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders.

Peter felt bad. He did. Honestly. He didn't mean to make Wade think he was dying or something. And he opened his mouth to say so, and to apologize for probably scaring the living bejeezus out of his boyfriend, but instead he found himself screaming. Again. And shaking the lip balm in front of him in a clawed grasp.

Wade frowned.

"Baby boy? Have you lost the ability to talk? That's not good, pookie-pants. Your banter is like, three hundred percent of your personality."

Peter let out a long, ragged breath. "Rude," he scoffed.

Wade's face lit up, and finally the tension ran out of his frame. "You _can_ talk! Congrudelions, Petey-Pie!"

Peter threw the lip balm at Wade's face with a groan. Wade let it hit him across the nose, but caught it before it could drop to the ground. He looked at the item in his hand and a grin broke across his face. "You found the present I left for you, Baby Boy! Don't you just love it? Pumpkin Spice chapstick is a goddamned miracle. What are they going to think up next? Pumpkin Spice condoms?" He thrust his pelvis forward. "Like a pumpkin on your dick."

"Oh god, I'd kill myself," Peter found himself moaning with a grimace before he realized what he was doing.

"Right? I'd just _die_!" Wade agreed, completely misunderstanding. "Don't you just love all this pumpkin spice stuff? It's freaking _heaven_ , sweet-cheeks. I'm in love. Muffins and coffee and cake, and candies, and just everything." He swooned a little. "Let's go out and find more. Right now, sexy thang. I bet they have pumpkin spice--"

"No!" Peter shouted, interrupting Wade before the older man could think of any more things to ruin with Pumpkin spice. "I don't even _like_ pumpkin Spice."

Wade frowned. "Yes you do."

"No I don't! I hate it! You keep bringing home cake and cookies and coffee and ice cream and I can't eat any of it! Which is _fine_ ," Peter drew out the word to its full emphasis, "because you like it. I get it. But enough is enough. _Not_ my lip balm. _Not_ my shampoo. Please let me keep my regular white bread. _Please_."

Wade was frowning. "Peter," he said slowly, and quietly, as if he was concentrating on not setting off a verbal landmine, which made Peter feel suddenly like a heel. "Why didn't you say something?" Which made Peter feel like more of a heel.

Peter slumped down a little. Let out a sigh. "You were just so excited! And then it got worse, but I had already not said anything, so I felt obligated to keep... Not saying anything."

"You're a dumb," Wade proclaimed.

"A single dumb?" Peter asked, the corners of his mouth curving upward.

"Yes," Wade said. "You are one single dumb. You should have _said_ something." 

Peter slumped again. "I know."

"Well don't worry, baby cakes," Wade said and kissed Peter's forehead. "I'll fix this."

"No," Peter said, "it's fine, I'll just--" 

Wade cut him off with another kiss to the forehead. "Shhhh, my beautiful monkey bread. Do not worry your webby little head. I will fix all."

And Peter let it go, because Wade looked so _earnest_.

True to his word, the next time Peter checked the bathroom drawer, the pumpkin spice lip balm was gone and his cherry Chapstick had been returned. The kitchen cabinets were emptied of pumpkin spice muffins and pumpkin spice nut bread. Peter's shower had returned to its normally scented life.

All traces of Pumpkin spice had been eradicated from the apartment.

Peter, upon finding exactly zero pumpkin spice things, shook his head. And then he went to the grocery store, and the next morning, when Wade woke up, he found Peter in the kitchen, a mug of Pumpkin Spice coffee and a plate with a pumpkin spice muffin waiting for Wade, and Columbian roast and a cheese Danish in front of Peter. And he smiled.


End file.
